What Hurts the Most
by michi1207
Summary: He's left behind, but he wishes he was back in the arena. Back where they were together, even if it was in a fight for their lives.


**Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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The scream rebounded through the trees, and my blood ran cold. It could only mean one thing: someone else had died, and, judging by the volume of the high-pitched shout of terror, they – and their murderer – were close. I quickly assessed my surroundings, searching desperately for a place to hide. The cannon boomed, and I felt both sympathetic toward the victim yet ashamed at my gratitude of still being alive. I ducked into a thicket of bushes, trying to calm my breathing, and waited. And waited. And waited. No footsteps neared my hiding place. I peeked through the branches and checked to see if my chances of dying had increased in the last thirty seconds. Fortunately, no one was around. The sky was darkening rapidly; I knew the group was heading back to their camp, waiting for dawn for the chance to catch me off guard, so they could stick a spear through my chest. Slit my throat with one of their intricate knives. Or even to crush my skull with their bare hands.

The scream echoed in my brain as the seal floated in the sky. Once I saw the image of the fallen, the scream became more terrifying, even harder to forget. My veins froze. My breathing stopped. My heart shattered. The latest fallen tribute was none other than…

"Katniss! No! Please…"

"Peeta. Peeta! Wake up!"

My eyes snap open, and I'm staring into the faces of my mother and father. Both are wearing expressions of concern, fear, and weariness. My mother, whose eyes were once filled with contempt, pushes my hair from my sweaty forehead and frowns.

"The dream again?"

"Same as usual."

"After work, I'm going by the Ev- I'll trade for sleep syrup again."

"That only works for a little while. The nightmares don't stop."

Her dark eyes soften. "Peeta, nothing will stop the nightmares permanently but time, and even that's not permanent."

My father runs a hand over my hair, his only form of actual affection, before going back to bed. Mother, on the other hand, remains where she is, and I roll onto my side. The tears come then as I remember the scream and the sight of Katniss Everdeen's image in the sky. It was now – then – just myself against five others. My mother begins rubbing my back in an attempt to soothe me. Eventually, my sobs and the rhythmic circles my mother is massaging on my back lull me into an uneasy sleep.

The next day is spent roaming the streets of District 12, my eyes trained on the ground. Mother has given me a free day away from the bakery because of my nightmares last night. Guilt floods me in overwhelming waves as I get closer to the Seam, and I catch sight of Gale Hawthorne slipping off to the edge of the district, to the fence separating us from the woods beyond. I've essentially taken away his best friend by not finding and staying with Katniss the entire time. I should never have agreed to the promise of coming back. There should never have been a reason for the promise. I should have insisted we stay together. But we'd split up – she to find game, I to get fresh water. When I'd arrived to our rendezvous point, she hadn't reappeared. I had automatically begun running through the trees, barely resisting the urge to scream for her. I circled back to the small clearing every so often, but I never saw her. There was one of her arrows, lodged high up in a tree. I'd known then she was wounded. Katniss never missed her target. This knowledge caused me to double my efforts in finding her. Then… that scream.

"Peeta?"

"Oh, sorry, Prim. I…I wasn't watching where I was going."

"I know. I also know she wouldn't want you to blame yourself."

"It's my fault," I mumble darkly, staring at the dirt.

"No, it isn't. We all saw you trying to find her as soon as you realised something was wrong."

"I should've known better than to split up, especially with Cato in the arena."

"She agreed to it. She knew, in her heart, splitting up to find food was a good idea. You would have starved without it. Do you know what the last thing she said was?" When I don't answer, she announced, "The last thing she said was…was 'Peeta, I'm so sorry. I love you. Please forgive me.'"

"Really?"

"Yes. That last boy you killed in the end killed her."

"I know. He had her pin."

"The tributes from District 11 tried to help her, but it was too late."

"Well, I'm glad they didn't die by my hands then."

"Peeta," she starts, her eyes widening at the bitterness with which I speak, "I'm not trying to upset you. I just wanted you to know that she loves you."

"Loved, Prim. Loved. She's dead. She can't love any more."

At this, the young girl's eyes freeze, wide-open, before she turns and runs sobbing from me. My anger doesn't subside; instead, it grows, this time at myself. I've lashed out at someone who has lost more than I have. Prim and her mother have lost family in the arena. What have I lost? She wasn't just my ally in the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games. No. She was the only girl to catch my attention fully, with all of my heart. From the first time I saw her, the girl with a voice to silence the birds in the trees as she sang. I'd even gotten a beating for burning those loaves on purpose to help feed her and her starving family. She was the only girl I've ever loved.

I sigh and continue my trek through the Seam. Families are milling about; kids are playing; as I pass by one group of women, I overhear them taking in hushed tones.

"That poor woman. She lost her husband and now a daughter."

"She'll lose it completely if the youngest one gets reaped next year."

"What are you looking at, boy?"

"Noth-nothing."

I walk swiftly away, once again overcome with guilt. If I had died in the Games, Mrs Everdeen would still have her oldest daughter. My parents would have been just fine if I had been killed in the arena. They'd still have my two brothers. Katniss left behind a sister, the last piece of family her mother would ever have.

I exhale sharply and turn my feet toward the small house. After knocking, all I can do is wait. A red-rimmed eye peeks through the crack, and I falter.

"Can I speak to Prim?"

"She doesn't want to see you. What you said…"

"I know, and I came to apologise."

She hesitates. "Make it quick. We wouldn't want to keep you from your duties as a victor."

I wince, though no malice can be detected in her tone, and follow her into a room off of the kitchen. Prim is curled up on a bed with an ugly, squashed-nose cat who I can swear glares at me haughtily. A low growl is building in its throat; I clear my own and shift my weight between my feet. The little girl barely barely looks up at me.

"What do you want?"

"I want to apologise for what I said and how I treated you. You didn't deserve it. All you were doing was making me feel better – or trying to. And I snapped. I shouldn't have. I'm really sorry."

"You don't think we're hurting, too, Peeta? I know already that I lost my sister. I don't need you to remind me."

"I know, and I'm sorry," I finally manage to choke out.

"I know you are. I'm sorry you lost her, too."

"I know…"

We both fall silent, with the ugly cat's quiet hisses as the only noise. I apologise again after a while and exit the room. Her mother stops me before I can reach the front door.

"Thank you," she whispers."

"For what?"

"For trying to protect my daughter."

I push my hands into my pockets and leave. Seeing the anguish on Mrs Everdeen's face isn't helping to settle my remorse. My fingers find the cool metal in the bottom of my pocket, and I halt, pulling it out. It's Katniss's mockingjay pin. The one Cato had stole from her dead body, most likely as a souvenir of his murder of the Girl on Fire. The one I took back from his cooling fingers once his heart no longer beat. I turn back to the house to see Mrs Everdeen standing in the doorway. She shakes her head when I make to hand it to her.

"She would have wanted you to keep it. To remind you that her heart was yours, whether either of you knew it or not."

She closes the door behind her; I walk away, back toward the bakery, staring at the bird in the ring. It causes fresh tears to come.

"Hey, Mellark."

Gale. I stop and wait for him to catch up. We travel in silence for a bit until he opens his mouth to speak.

"Don't blame yourself."

Why is everybody telling me this? I purse my lips and wipe away the wetness from my eyes. He pretends not to notice. Instead, he watches the trees that we pass.

"You were important to her. I know she didn't plan to, but she really did fall in love with you. I knew, as soon as it became clear to everyone, that the 'star-crossed lovers' angle was no longer an act… I knew then that she'd never been truly mine. She gave herself to you. Unwillingly, of course."

"Yea, it'd be a shame for her to have acknowledged her need for someone else." I don't mean this as a joke, but we both chuckle at the truthfulness in my words.

"You know, if she'd survived, she never would have really lived after you died. Not if it meant you were dead. Never coming back. She would've merely existed. You were her life. Somewhere along the way…"

He trails off, clears his throat, and walks away. My mind is racing. My breathing becomes harder to execute. Fire… Inhale – burning, charring. Exhale – the flames grow higher. I can't see clearly, but my feet take me to my destination. Haymitch is clearly already drunk. He doesn't protest or ask questions when I join in. He knows how I'm feeling. He understands how it feels, how much it hurts to lose someone with whom you are – were – in love. He knows. So he lets me forget.


End file.
